Sweet Little Lies
by Patricia de Lioncourt
Summary: Follow up to "One for Us, Redux." Fool him once, shame on him. Fool him twice…


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer or any related characters. SPN belongs to Kripke, and Buffy belongs to Joss Whedon. No money made here.

**Author's Notes:** This is not only a follow up to my story, One for Us Redux, but also for the hc-bingo, prompt square "asphyxiation." Yeah, we're gonna have some fun. The title is inspired by the Fleetwood Mac song, "Little Lies." Hope you enjoy!

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**Sweet Little Lies**

Something was different. Faith could feel it in the pit of her stomach. Something was _wrong_. The situation looked the same, to the casual observer. She was in another pay-by-the-hour motel in another Quaint Town, U.S.A. And she wasn't alone. Crowley—the newly proclaimed King of Hell—was with her, but this came as no surprise. After all, this was their agreement—their next designated meeting place.

It had been a month since she had filled Buffy, her fellow vampire slayer, in on the location of the missing prophet. The prophet that could, rumor had it, read the word of God. A lot of people were looking for him, Heaven, Hell and everyone in between. And Crowley had him. Emphasis on the word "had." During their last little rendezvous, Crowley had given Faith all she needed to know about the location of Kevin the Prophet—Cleveland's Hellmouth. Of course, the arrogant King of Hell thought she was his, and that her loyalties were in no way divided between him and the slayers, Buffy and her ilk. But Faith had been down that dark road before, and it was lonely. And disappointing. She was a good girl now… but that didn't mean she couldn't cash in on her bad side now and again all in the name of the greater good. Which was exactly what she was doing now.

But, that feeling in her gut wouldn't go away. Something was wrong, she knew it. She could see it in the demon's yellow-green eyes as he smiled at her. She curled up on the queen-sized bed, hearing the leather of her pants squeak as it rubbed together. She kept on her heels—thick, tall things that most wouldn't think practical in the world of slaying monsters. Crowley liked it when she kept her heels on, and she needed to stay on his good side. Using herself as a double agent was doing wonders for the side of light. And it wasn't like Crowley was bad in bed—far from it. So, as long as he thought she was _his_, then it was a win/lose situation, but with Faith coming out the better.

"You look tense tonight, baby," Faith purred as Crowley came to a stop, standing just at the foot of the bed.

It was better to address the problem head on, like she had nothing in the world to be worried about from him. But his smile was still cold, not quite meeting his eyes. She bit her lip—another thing he liked—and laid back against the pillows. He removed his suit's jacket—always a suit, he was always in a suit—letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. He crawled onto the bed, not stopping until he was hovering over her, propped up on his hands and knees. He gazed down at her, and Faith slid down a bit, grinning and wiggling in all the right places. He swooped down, catching her lips in a heated and full kiss, pushing his tongue past her unprepared lips. She was ready for him soon enough, reaching up to wrap her hands around his neck.

He stopped the kiss, rather abruptly, leaning back on his haunches. Faith's arms fell back to the bed as she stared up at him.

"What's wrong?"

He chuckled, bringing his hands down so that they grasped both of Faith's wrists and held them against the mattress.

"I've had a bad month, princess. Daddy wants to play a little rough," he said, leaning in to nibble at her neck.

She hated that whole "daddy" thing, and he knew that. No doubt that's why he persisted with it. She gasped, moaning as he bit a little harder, her hips bucking up at him. He chuckled again, softly, into her ear.

"Give me your best shot, honey," she said, leaning up to bite the lobe of his ear.

He laughed, and something about it made her blood run cold. It was like she wasn't in on the joke or something. But she didn't have much longer to think on this. He jerked her upright, pulling off her tank and bra with such a force that the fabric burned as it slid off of her skin. His arms wrapped around her bare torso, his nails digging into her back. She felt the sting of her skin breaking, and she hissed, arching into him. He grasped her tightly to him, just for a moment, before shoving her down amongst the pillows. As he slid down her body, working her pants down as he went, Faith's eyes flew to the stack of quartz that Willow had given her, to make sure that when she was informing Buffy on things she had learned directly from the King of Hell, that it would be safe. Willow had told her that quartzes were special, that often or not, they could surprise their owners. Faith had not the foggiest idea what that had meant, especially since her little stack had done nothing except its intended purpose.

Faith's eyes rolled back to Crowley, who had removed every article of clothing off the both of them in a flash. She leaned up, propping her torso up on her elbows, but Crowley dug his hands into her collar bone, forcing her back. She gasped with the pain. She was a slayer, which automatically meant that pain was a part of the job. But that move… there was more than just a sadistic pleasure being played out here. But that worry disappeared as a wave of pleasure washed through her. Crowley had disappeared from her line of sight, and she could feel where he had reappeared. She felt his tongue flicker at her sensitive areas, and she moaned, her back arching. Crowley put his hands on her hips, forcing her down to the bed and holding her there. She struggled with him, breaking free once or twice thanks to her slayer strength, but never for long. He was the demon King of Hell, after all, and that had a certain amount of power that went with it.

She could feel a familiar heat rising, a wave of it, breaking away and washing her in warm contentment. Faith tried to catch her breath, but Crowley gave her no breaks. He rose up, digging the heels of his hands into her shoulders as he thrust himself inside of her. And, no matter how prepared she had been, it still hurt. She hissed with that pain, shrugging his grip off her shoulders as he moved inside her—as hard and as fast as he could. There was no pleasure for her in this, and she had a sneaking suspicion that that was the point. It was hurting her, and Faith was no little girl who had to be played nice with. She was used to pain, to having it rough. But Crowley wanted her to hurt, wanted her eyes to be tearing up like they were now.

"Stop. It hurts," Faith groaned, raising her hands to shove against the demon's torso.

Crowley laughed as he continued to pound inside of her. Faith hissed with the pain, digging her nails into his flesh, even tearing some off. Crowley bent down over her, their noses almost touching.

"Fight harder, darling. Make me really feel your pain," he growled softly.

"Stop!" Faith cried out, throwing a punch.

It connected with a crack, and it gave Crowley a pause. He shoved his jaw back into place, and leaned back, cocking his head down at her.

"I thought you liked it like this," he said. "Or am I hurting the pretty princess?"

Faith reached up, digging her hands into his shoulders, and flipped him. She continued to grind on top of him, her ruby-painted lips smiling at him.

"I still want it to feel good, Crowley. Otherwise, I don't have any fun," she said.

Crowley seemed annoyed by this. Not at all happy with the transition in positions. He grasped her by her waist, reversing them once more. He moved inside of her, but with significantly less force, and Faith could feel her passion coming to a head once more. She smiled up at him.

"Yeah, baby. Like that," she encouraged.

Crowley sped up, moving until he cried out, spilling inside of her. He continued to thrust until he was spent. And even then, he remained inside her a moment longer, waiting out the orgasm that Faith could still feel growing ever closer. He slid a finger down, finding that very special bundle of nerves, and rubbed it until Faith cried out once more. It was only then, as Faith lay, sprawled out and panting, that Crowley removed himself. She gasped, everything feeling much more sensitive than usual, and couldn't find the will to move. Meanwhile, the demon dressed, and Faith only registered that he was fully clothed again when he was straightening his jacket.

She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling. "Job well done."

Crowley grimaced, crawling back onto the bed, and back over her. Faith lay back, a brow arched up at him.

"Want another round?" she asked.

Crowley rarely went for round two. She figured that a second round meant a connection. It would be no wham, bam, thank you ma'am if round two was involved. Being someone who was used to a life of one night stands, this was perfectly logical to her. Connections were bad. Feelings were messy. And both of those came along with round twos. But the demon straddled her, running his hands over her still-bare chest as she smiled. But something was off. Her slayer senses were telling her to go, leave, before things went from bad to worse. But she held her smile. Best to play it cool.

"So, I've been doing some thinking and researching and such over this past month," Crowley said, his fingers now tracing her collarbone.

"Yeah?"

"And it occurs to me… other than myself and a handful of my most trusted demons… only one other person knew where I was taking the prophet."

Faith's smile faded. Just a bit. But she had it back in place as she shook her head.

"Who's that?"

In a flash, Crowley's hands wrapped about her throat, pressing down.

"You, love. Only you," he said, squeezing hard.

Faith flailed, summoning all her strength as she tried to kick the demon off. But he was deliberate. Crowley always was, no matter what he was doing. Oxygen was becoming an issue as Crowley was using just enough of his demon strength to make sure that she couldn't get him off… and that she was going to suffer. He could've crushed her throat in one squeeze. But he didn't. Instead, Faith felt her lungs burning as she tried to breath in… only to find Crowley's hands preventing such a measure. She clawed at his arms, reaching under the fabric of his suit to do maximum damage. And she could feel his skin tearing, feel the warm blood on her fingers. But his grip only tightened.

"Betrayal doesn't sit well with me, darling," he said, putting just a tad more pressure on her throat.

Faith choked, trying to speak. And Crowley laughed at her.

"So… you've been playing me all along, right? Taking info from me and delivering it to your little slayer friends? Well, I think your lifeless body ought to send message enough, don't you think? You don't screw with the King of Hell, sweetheart."

Faith's eyes flew to the stack of quartz, and she found herself wishing that Willow had been right. That the quartz would surprise her. She removed her hands from Crowley, her vision beginning to get black all around the sides, as she reached—weakly—for the quartz. But it was just out of reach, and her vision was getting darker and darker as her mind was getting weaker and weaker for lack of air. Her eyes flew back to Crowley, who was staring at her as if he was almost bored. Like, couldn't she just die already?

"Bloody slayer," he muttered, pressing a little harder.

Faith choked on her words again, and she wasn't even sure what she was trying to say. She couldn't think clearly, panic setting in. She was a slayer. Being choked to death by a demon was not the way it was supposed to end. Neck snap, sword through the gut, beheaded… sure. But asphyxiation… not likely. She turned her attention back to the quartz, thinking about the slayers and the wiccans. She even thought of Willow, and she wondered, as the quartz was getting hard to focus on, if any of them would even miss Faith when she was gone. After all, she'd given Buffy and the Scoobies enough trouble. She was only recently good. Would they even care? Maybe that's why she was here, with the bad assignment. The slayers had gotten what they needed from Faith, and that was all. Her number was up.

Faith was suddenly aware that her body had stopped moving, that she was just laying there like a limp fish while Crowley squeezed the last bits of life out of her. Then, it stopped. A loud crash coming from somewhere around the hotel room's door sounded, and Faith could breathe again. She drew in the air, willing her vision to return and her brain to function. Crowley's weight was no longer upon her, and she shook her head, turning to her side as she gulped in breath after breath.

"_Abscede_!" a familiar voice cried.

Faith leaned up in time to notice that the quartz was now bright red and pulsating, and Crowley had hit the opposite wall of the room hard. Then, as quick as a flame being extinguished, he vanished. Faith's brain had not yet caught up when she felt something warm and soft being draped about her shoulders. The panic still ruled her as she tried to shove it away.

"Faith, Faith, Faith!" Willow cried as the slayer finally focused in on her. "It's me. You're okay. You're all right."

Faith's breath was coming in heavy gasps as she accepted the blanket Willow handed her, wrapping it about her naked form. Willow disappeared into the room's adjoining bathroom, and returned with a little plastic cup of water.

"Drink this, slowly. You're probably gonna be hoarse for a while," she said.

Faith did as she was told, and the water felt good against her aching throat. She finished it, dropping the cup onto the bed. Her eyes flew from Willow to the door, and back again.

"How?" she rasped.

Willow pointed to the quartz. "Told you they could surprise you. Buffy wouldn't send you in on something like this alone. She had me enchant it so it would warn me if you ever got in over your head."

Tears were welling up in the slayers eyes. She had almost died. And she had been sure that not a soul would've cared. But, apparently, someone did. She composed herself, shaking the wave of joy and relief from her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

Willow shrugged. "Buffy didn't want you to think that she thought you couldn't handle it. She just meant it as back-up."

Faith pulled the blanket about her tighter. "He almost killed me."

It was a murmur. Barely audible, but Willow heard her. She took a seat beside the slayer, wrapping an arm, hesitantly, about her shoulders. After all, Faith was the unpredictable one. The rouge slayer gone not-rouge. Faith turned her head, staring at the witch.

"We knew that was a possibility. Crowley's not stupid," Willow admitted.

Faith's brow furrowed. "You knew it would come to this?"

"Hence the back-up."

"Why not just let him kill me?"

Willow's eyes widened. "Do you really have to ask that?"

"I deserved it. For what I've done."

"You mean, like helping us save the world? Helping us establish the slayer groups around the world?"

Faith felt a warm tear slide down her face. "I'm not used to back up."

Willow smiled, standing and gathering Faith's clothes. She offered them to her.

"Well, get used to it. We don't roll like that. We don't send people to their deaths. Now, let's get you home. I think you deserve a break."

Faith nodded, and began to dress. Once she was done, and the quartz was gathered—because she still wanted it, considering it was the only reasons he was still breathing—she turned back to the witch.

"So, you really forgive me? For everything?"

Willow shrugged. "Life's too short for grudges. As far as Buffy's concerned, you're one of us."

Faith laughed. "So, what? No more bad girl assignments, like this one?"

Willow chuckled. "Not unless you want them."

Faith thought about that for a moment. Finally, she smiled.

"I think I'd like to try dealing in truths instead of lies for a change."

Willow clapped her on the shoulder, like an old friend might. "Sounds good to me."

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End Note: Lord, I hope that went okay. Nothing like a near death experience to make you suddenly re-examine your life, yeah?

Ah, and the latin:

_Abscede_=Begone

Courtesy of Google Translate.


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